A Winter in Oslo

January 7th 2023

late afternoon, somewhere in oslo

I'm out again. After dragging my luggage through the snowy streets, and after meeting the two house cats — Luna (tiny, scared) and Niro (lanky, curious). I'm out for groceries, and to take a look around.

It's cold, but it feels good. The alive kind of cold. Snowy and soft and so very quiet.
Narrow trenches form in the streets where footprint blends into footprint. Like game paths.

I hope they lead me to a supermarket, and they do.

I buy a couple onions for way too much money and move on. Down the road is a small Thai grocery store — the owner is chatty, his name is Erik. He finds some rice for me and offers a fistbump on my way out.

The sun has already set, and orange juice and sushi rice weigh heavy in my backpack, but I'm drawn, moth to flame, to the waterfront. To yacht docks and posh hotels and the old thieve's islands, now filled with architecture that no mortal human being could possibly afford.
Eventually, I find myself next to a skating hall by the water — you can make out the clattering of boards if you listen closely — my feet sunken deep into a field of untouched snow.

There's a large tree here, right in front of me. Except there isn't, because it's fake. It's a thing of lights — leaves shimmering in red and white, breathing, casting patterns on the water.

It feels enchanted, and quiet, and beautiful.

Perhaps this is what has drawn me out.